


The Thing With Feathers

by Talullah



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-18
Updated: 2015-12-18
Packaged: 2018-05-07 12:18:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5456288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five episodes on the road plus one, later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing With Feathers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cole_lit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cole_lit/gifts).



> Request: Five times (or more) thorin's company bonded over Bagginshield. Can be set anytime during the quest or after BotFA (whether the Durins live or not is up to you.)  
> \+ if there are hardcore shippers that eventually convert the doubters (via debates, fighting, blackmail, etc.)  
> ++ other characters (like gandalf, elrond, bard, thranduil, etc) join the discussions (some of them are shippers and some doubters)  
> ++ if thorin and bilbo join the discussions sometimes (either separately or together or even many times)  
> +++ if thorin is a doubter (as in he doubts that bilbo actually likes him that way) and bilbo wants bagginshield to be true so bad
> 
> I tried to get you a little of everything, but I ended up forsaking a little the typical 5+1 course, keeping only the structure. I followed more closely the movie verse than the book verse (a first for me!). Titles from poems by Emily Dickinson.
> 
> Many thanks to Erulise for the beta.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**1\. I taste a liquor never brewed**  
These… people, coming into his house, wrecking his peace and quiet, raiding his pantry, expecting him to be a burglar and go on some adventure… no. Nonsense. Bilbo wishes they were gone with all his strength, especially the one who makes his heart leap, who treats him with the most contempt.

Bilbo wakes to an empty house and sighs. It does not feel like relief, though. He moves around, aimlessly picking up objects, peering at his well-tended garden… Those rowdy dwarves, noisy, impertinent… Bilbo has not felt as alive as the night before, not in a long time. And Thorin Oakenshield, King of Erebor, with his dark, burning eyes, will look at him one day and say, ‘Thank you’.

Bilbo runs out the door. As he dashes through the fields, he wonders if he left his stove on. The Gaffer will take care of it. If not… well, he may not even get out of this alive. Or he might end up living under a mountain. Who knows?

 **2\. Tell all the truth but tell it slant**  
A pale sun barely warmed the courtyard, but four friends remained, drying under its feeble warmth after their bath in the fountain. The rest of the company had already been invited to return to their rooms by that stuck up Lindir, but Gloin, Oin, Balin and Dalin stubbornly remained, taking great pleasure at the elf’s mix of frustration at their noncompliance and embarrassment at their nakedness.

“We are out of place here and wasting time,” said Gloin, once Lindir was out of earshot.

By his side, Oin nodded. “The land of the elves is beautiful, but it is not home. We had better be on our way.”

“Our burglar seems quite enchanted with the place,” Gloin remarked. “Perhaps he should stay here.”

“Bilbo has proved his worth,” Balin firmly said.

“You are quick to jump in his defence, cousin,” Oin poked. “Like them young and short, eh?”

“Oh, shut your filthy mouth, Oin,” Balin retorted, once the laughter subsided. “In any case, if someone were to miss him in that way it would be our leader and cousin.”

“You lie!” Gloin said, sitting up.

“He does not!” Dalin snapped. “My brother may be many things but liar is not one of them, as you well know, cousin.”

Gloin sighed, exasperated, shaking his head. “You know what I mean. He may not be lying but he is gravely mistaken. Like myself, Thorin thinks little of the burglar’s capabilities and he has been quite open about it.”

“Yes, to the point of rudeness,” Balin said. “But then he keeps staring at the fellow with doe eyes.”

“Doe eyes? I doubt it. I have not seen it,” Oin said, frowning.

Dalin snorted. “Cousin, you have trouble seeing a ruby among the scrabble.”

“That was just one time,” Oin defended himself, embarrassed.

Gloin gently pulled his beard, absorbed in thought.

“Balin,” he said, “do you really think that our cousin is infatuated with the hobbit?”

Balin looked at his cousin, then rose to his feet and started dressing. “I am not sure he realizes it. But I am convinced he is far from indifferent and that many of his manifestations against Bilbo are more meant to protect him than for any other purpose.

“You are not falling for this,” Oin said.

Gloin picked up his breeches from the ground, absorbed in thought. “I think Balin might have a point, brother. I had not really pieced it together, but now, remembering some moments… We need to pay more attention tonight. If this is true, the hobbit stays behind, even if I have to tie him to one of these statues.”

Balin huffed. “Why? I see no harm in it. Bilbo is a gentle fellow. Thorin needs a measure of gentleness in his life and we both know that he is not going to get it from a wife, if we ever come out of this alive.”

“Are you doubting our quest?” Oin challenged.

“I believe we will be successful. I hope we will be,” Balin said.

“And you would have a king without a queen, then?” Oin said. “With this hobbit by his side?”

“Cousin,” Dalin said. “I think you know my brother says the truth when he implies that our Thorin has no inclination for wives…”

Oin reluctantly assented.

“And it might not be a bad idea for him to have by his side someone who is not after anything, really. The hobbit does not know our houses, our politics, anything. And I do think he also looks doe-eyed at Thorin, when he thinks no one is looking.”

Oin pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am digesting it.”

Balin laughed. “Alright. Then we will have your share of dinner. Let us go see what the elves cooked up tonight.”

 **3\. I had no time to hate**  
Thorin sighed deeply as they settled in the barn Gandalf had found them. Everything felt big, bigger than the outside world often did, but it was warm and soft, two things he did not ordinarily value much, but now, secretly, appreciated.

“That was quite a sigh, cousin,” Balin jested.

“I am in no mood, Balin,” Thorin gruffly said.

Balin snorted as he tossed the hay around. “You should make your bed closer to the halfling’s.”

Thorin lifted an eyebrow. “I have no idea what you mean,” he tersely replied.

Balin snickered and by his side, his brother, who never missed an exchange, also chortled.

“I am sure you do.”

Thorin turn his back on his cousins and finished fluffing his spot for the night. He was tired, to say the least, and after a couple of deep yawns, he quickly started drifting into sleep.

“Cousin,” a hushed voice came from the dark, close to him. Thorin ignored it.

“Cousin,” Balin insisted. “I know you are still awake. Listen, you and I know there is a chance, and I do not want to call it a good chance, that we might not make it. I think you should lighten up and enjoy what pleasures you may find on your way.

Thorin grunted. “Leave me alone,” he harshly whispered.

“But you fancy the burglar, and I haven’t seen you fancying anyone in a long while. I can see that you would. The lad can be quite fascinating in his own way,” Balin whispered in Thorin’s ear.

“Balin, just shut up,” Thorin said, loud enough to earn grunts from Bombur and Bifur, who had settled nearby.

“Jealous, huh?” Balin quipped, chuckling.

“I am not jealous,” Thorin replied through gritted teeth, sitting up. “There is nothing of the sort going on.”

“But you wish it did. I have seen you looking at him.”

“You sound like a boy. This is a youngling speaking. Go to sleep.”

“Just promise you will keep an open mind.”

“Oy, stop that racket! We want to sleep,” said Bifur.

Thorin lay back down and for a little while they were quiet. Despite his fatigue, he could not sleep, though. Balin’s talk had rattled him. He turned to his side, to find his cousin staring at him.

“What?” he whispered. “Still the same thing? For starters, what tells you that the halfling would even consider it? I have hardly been nice to him. We are from different races. There is the age gap. We do not even know if he likes men. Not all races are as… flexible as us, or at least not all admit they are.”

“I see that you have given this a lot of thought,” Balin teased.

Thorin rolled to his back. “We should sleep. Everyone else seems to have already fallen asleep.”

“Cousin, Bilbo looks at you as often and as intensely as you look at him, if you follow my meaning. I was not born yesterday, you know. He practically eats you with his eyes.”

“I doubt that he does,” Thorin said, “and I did not know this matchmaker side of yours.”

Balin chortled. “Just be nicer to him. The fellow has proved his value and he deserves it. If something else comes of it…”

“Like I said, I doubt it.”

Balin rolled to his side. “Well, let us go to sleep. You may be thick-headed but you know that I am right.”

Thorin grunted and stared at the beams in the ceiling for a long time before falling asleep.

 **4\. Wild nights - Wild nights!**  
“Once again you have proven your worth,” said Thorin, staring out the window at the dark, oily water of the lake. The house was quiet, everyone asleep, save for Fili, watching over his brother, Kili.

“Thank you,” Bilbo said. After a moment, he added, “I was not expecting those words from you. They mean a lot.”

Thorin inspected his hands. “You are welcome.” He expected Bilbo to leave from his side, but the Bard’s house was small and cramped and there was nowhere to go, not really.

“It is quiet now. Kili is asleep,” Bilbo said.

Thorin nodded.

“I like Kili very much. He is a strong lad. He will be fine, you will see,” Bilbo added.

“I hope that you are right.”

Bilbo extended his hand. It hovered for a while over Thorin’s but he eventually placed over his, gently, firmly. “I heard you and Balin that day at Beor’s house,” he whispered, when Thorin did not pull back. “Balin was right you know. About how I feel.”

Thorin lifted his eyes to Bilbo’s face, staring at him with shock. 

“I know you started out despising me,” Bilbo proceeded, “And I know it is presumptuous to woo a king. It might not be meant to be at all… most certainly not. But I wanted you to know that…” Bilbo inhaled deeply. “That I hold you in very high regard. That you have my deepest esteem." He shook his head and took a breath, focusing on his hand atop Thorin's. "I sound like a stuffy fool. I am rather in love with you, that is what I want to say. And you do not have to say anything at all. I would have not dared to earn another layer of despite from you if it were not for that night’s revelations.”

Bilbo moved to rise from his place by Thorin’s side, but before he could finish the movement, Thorin captured his hand and held him close. He looked into Bilbo’s eyes for a very long time before speaking.

“Thank you. Maybe one day we will be free from all of this…”

Bilbo shook his head. “Why later? We may not have later. Why not now?”

Thorin averted his eyes. With a gentle touch of his fingertips, Bilbo turned his face. “I will be outside, getting some fresh air,” he said, before leaving.

Thorin waited a moment, pondering, then followed him.

 **5\. Success is counted sweetest**  
Bilbo’s heart ached. He had never seen himself as a deceiver, but this journey had taught him a lot about who he was. First, that wretched creature in the dark. He had had the excuse of trying to save his own life. But now it was Thorin he was deceiving, and he was not even sure why. Why had he kept the Arkenstone? Why had he given up every chance of coming clean? He did not know. What he did know was that Thorin was not the same, not himself at all.

Physical closeness, now that they had a little time and a lot of room, under the mountain, was far from his mind, and apparently from Thorin’s too. Emotional closeness even less. He felt that everything was falling apart, instead of falling into place. “Thorin, where have you gone,” he thought when he looked at the handsome face twisted in hate, when he heard the angry snarls Thorin now lavishly handed to each and every one of the men who had brought him to his throne.

Bilbo hesitated. He sat quietly, thinking it over and over. He felt that time was running out in more than one way. Perhaps the greatest treachery could buy them some good. Perhaps even salvation. He patted his pocket, found the thing he had been looking for, heavy, warm, waiting for him. Thorin might hate him forever, but soon they would all be dead. Forever might not be that much of a long time. He had to do the right thing, even if it was also the wrong thing.

 **Coda. Because I could not stop for Death**  
A lifetime had gone by. An extraordinary, vibrant, full lifetime. But also an often lonely one, full of regrets. Bilbo loved every moment of his last adventure, and that his dear Frodo, more a son than a nephew, was here by his side, even at this twilight. But it was time to ramble on. His life faded slowly, ebbing away like the water reaching for the lowest tide. Still, like some trees that flowered exuberantly after a fire, he felt one last reserve of energy pooling deep inside him, gathering around itself. He did not know what that was, but day by day, staring out the window of his lovely cottage by the sea, he knew he had one last adventure in him, and that his last days were not to be spent in Tol Eressëa.

He was… ambivalent. He liked that word. It was far better than deceitful, dishonest, liar. Well, he had sometimes held the truth to himself, in his long life, but it had been for the greater good. He could accept that part of him that was not completely earnest, because the world was not built for complete earnestness. Looking at poor Frodo, a soul far purer than his own, he could see the suffering that an excess of forthrightness could bring.

He wrote a letter for his nephew and left it at his desk. There was also one for Elrond. Gandalf, or Olórin, as he went by these days, he was sure he would meet again. He would be travelling lightly, with just a few coins in his pocket and a small notebook, more to quench the habit of writing than to actually record anything of importance. He was far past his scribing days.

Somehow, he found himself slipping into one of Círdan’s ferryboats. Perhaps he was stealthy, perhaps no one cared to confront an elderly, possibly senile, hobbit. Bilbo cared not what anyone might thought. He crossed the Calacirya on foot, stopping only a moment, only enough to peer at Tírion sprawling down the hill. Then he went on, eyeing now and then the marvel of Taniquetil, and the eagles that flew around it. No one stopped him. No one questioned him. An elven woman sold him a loaf of bread, another gave him water. His feet carried him on, westward, always on.

The land was beauteous, as he knew it would be. The exquisiteness of the landscape took his breath away… or was that the weight of old age? Bilbo did not stop to ponder and moved on. No one was in sight now, but nature offered berries, fresh water, and mushrooms. Bilbo almost felt like a young hobbit in the Shire. He stopped counting the days.

One evening, as the sun set, he noticed a shape in the horizon. He walked toward it in the moonlight, forgetting all about how tired old hobbits should rest plenty. He arrived by dawn, exhausted. Hands held him, the tall, slender forms of elves but with a radiance of otherness emanating from them. They carried him to a bed and he fell into a long, deep slumber. Now and then he was aware of hushed voices, cool hands caring for his body, fragrances in the breeze, but he did not force himself out of his restfulness.

One day he woke, refreshed. It was twilight and someone sang close by. Lórien, land of dreams, he realized. Gingerly, he rose to his feet. He felt no hunger or weariness, only the urge to continue. He looked around but no one came. As he meandered through the elegant gardens no one came close. Unhurriedly, he found his way to a gate. A man opened it.

“Farewell, Bilbo Baggins,” he said. “Your next destination shall be to my brother’s.”

Bilbo bowed as deeply as he old bones allowed him to. “Thank you, Lord Irmo,” he said.

Then, there was him and the road again. This time, the next stop came swiftly.

“Few enter these gates willingly,” said Námo, holding the door ajar, in a manner of greeting.

“My lord,” Bilbo said, bowing. 

Mandos opened the door all the way back. “Welcome, venerable one.”

Bilbo was humbled by Mandos’s words, but he walked on. He was not sure his entrance into these hallowed grounds meant the death of his body, but he cared not. The time for the denouement of his life was upon him, and all he felt was peace, punctuated by sparks of the joyous moments and a few flashes of his regrets, floating around him as paintings of another man’s life.

“Your fate lies with the race of Man,” said Mandos. However, you may linger here for a little while, if you wish, before your final journey.

“Thank you, my lord,” said Bilbo, bowing again.

Mandos vanished into the shadows, leaving him to wander at his will. The elven kind lived here in these halls, he knew that from Elrond’s lore. Men, such as himself, would only briefly pass by. Of dwarves, no one talked. Perhaps he should have sought out Aulë? But this was the place his feet, his heart had lead him to.

When he was tired, he sat down on the cold floor. Then, he saw a luminosity coming from a hallway. He followed it, passing by many doors, watching it grow, as unsung, unexplained joy grew in his heart. Just before he reached the light, a silhouette taller than him walked forward. He knew that shape, he knew it although he had not seen it for a lifetime.

“Thorin!”

“Yes,” replied the familiar voice. “I waited for you, to ask for your forgiveness.”

Bilbo tried to touch Thorin, but he seemed to be out of his reach. “I am the one to ask for forgiveness. I betrayed you.”

“You did what you had to do. I was angry at you, even from here, but gradually, I understood you and I understood myself.”

Once again, Bilbo tried to touch Thorin, who stood right in front of him, but failed.

“I am afraid touch is no longer possible,” Thorin said, regretfully. “We should have had more of that in our lifetime. Less pride, more listening, more touching. If there is a second turn for the likes of me, as some say there is, I shall strive to learn the lesson.”

Bilbo smiled sadly. “For my kind there is only this one time, and then the unknown…”

“So this is goodbye,” Thorin concluded.

“I suppose. I did love you,” Bilbo said. “You were my greatest regret.”

“And you were mine,” Thorin replied. “You brought the only joy I had on my last few months and I overlooked it.”

Bilbo gently shook his head. “Let us not talk of it.”

“Then, if is farewell,” Thorin said.

Bilbo looked at the light behind Thorin, where his path lay, and then at his old lover’s face.

“Farewell, then, love,” he said. For a moment, he felt as if he had touched Thorin’s warm skin with his fingertips. Thorin’s eyes closed, as if he felt it too. Then it was the light and freedom.

_Finis  
December 2015_


End file.
